30 Farewell
by E. J. Morgan
Summary: Q-niverse AU - There's no 'happily ever after' for the Holmes family.
1. Chapter 1

**TEASER**

„Have you fed Fluffy yet, Caleb?" – Asked Benedict his middle child, as they were sitting around the table, having breakfast. It was one of the rare occasions when the whole family could eat together, as Benedict – leader of MI6 now – only needed to be in Headquarters at 10 AM that day. It happened occasionally… maybe every ten months or so… that he could have a relaxed morning with his wife and children, so he had decided to enjoy it to the fullest.

"Not yet, dad. I'm gonna do it after breakfast." – Shrugged the 8-year-old boy. He loved his small pet dearly but – being as giddy as everyone else at that age – he sometimes forgot to take care of it. That had been Benedict's original purpose when with allowing the little one to have an own pet (aside from scaring James Bond to death with it of course…): to teach the child to take his responsibilities more seriously.

"Just don't forget it, please. Last time you didn't change its water for three days. If I hadn't done it for you, the poor thing would have dried out by now." – Reminded Benedict. While he had known from the very beginning he'd have to take care of the eight-legged creature himself (not to mention Confetti and Pixel, their two cats), he still hoped he could get his son to help him more. It wasn't as if he didn't have enough on his plate without extra tasks.

"Yes, dad."

Annabel, like always, made a face at the mention of the spider.

"Remind me again, just for the record: why do we feed and keep as a pet an animal that everyone else would like nothing more than to get rid of?"

"Because it's my best friend!" – Declared Caleb proudly.

"And then why don't we take in all the other spiders, Cal? There is one in the toilet upstairs right now. I don't see anyone running to adopt it. Still, it's quite content there. It even looks fat, so I guess it can feed itself just fine." – Inquired Isabell, who, much like her mother, couldn't for the life of her understand why anyone would like to have a spider as a pet.

"Because it's an _araneus_ , not a tarantula, silly. Everyone knows that." – Piped up six-year-old Lucas, not even looking up from his bowl of cereal. – "Originally called _epeira_. While the tarantula belongs to the family of the _theraphosidae_ "

Everyone but Benedict looked at him with clear confusion on their faces.

"It's a what, Luke dear?" – Asked Annabel, by now used to sudden, eccentric declarations like this one of her youngest. The little one was just like his father in many ways and thus most of the time only Benedict was able to completely understand what he talked about.

So, not at all surprisingly, it was Benedict who answered the question, albeit a bit tiredly.

"An orb-weaver spider, Bel." – At her incredulous expression, he added as an explanation. – "A common spider you'd find in the garden any time."

Annabel raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"So, it doesn't have to be fed and cared for then because it's _common_!?" – She challenged.

"I didn't say that…"

"Yes, you just did."

"You really did, dad." – Added Isabell, nodding her head in agreement with her mother.

Typical that the girls would gang up on him!

"Thanks for the support, Isy." – Well, but the men still outnumbered the women in this family! Perhaps, he could use that to his advantage… – "Caleb? Did I say that? Cal…? Hey, where are you going?"

"I'm going to get that spider from the toilet and introduce it to Fluffy. I'm sure they'll be happy to have company."

"Oh, buddy, I think your tarantula would be most happy to eat it, not make acquaintance with it…"

His older son seemed to think about it for a moment before answering:

"Well, then it's fine. You told me to feed Fluffy anyway." – With that, he left the kitchen and proceeded to walk up the stairs, not caring to back up his father in any way in the argument.

Benedict turned to his last hope. They could still be evenly matched after all…

"Luke?"

The little one just finished fishing out all the cereal letters from his bowl needed to form the names of his entire family on the tray. The once crispy pieces were now totally drenched and dripped milk all over the table.

"Ahm… sorry, dad, what did you say?"

"I asked if you think I offended any type of spiders or any other species for that matter with my statement?"

"Hm… I don't know, dad. Which statement do you mean? I wasn't paying attention very much; you know, if it's something with eight limbs, I prefer octopuses to spiders."

With that the little boy was already lost in his own world again, as he started a one-sided game of scrabble with his wet cereals and didn't pay attention to his parents at all anymore.

Isabell was by now reading her favorite book (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban) probably for the hundredth time in a row. Benedict didn't understand it: she was a genius, for God's sake, she should know it by heart after the second time reading it! Anyway, she clearly considered the matter closed as well.

Caleb was still upstairs trying to make two completely distinct types of spiders become best friends.

Annabel was looking at her husband smugly, as if saying: 'you really thought you could win this one?'

Benedict sighed and stood up to wash the dishes. At times like that he really couldn't decide which of his recurring tasks was more difficult: leading the whole MI6 through fire and ice, fighting every hindrance along the way, or trying to reason with members of his family and just once in his life emerge in an argument the victor.

He strongly suspected that, while he had been dealing with the former quite successfully for years, the latter seemed completely impossible to achieve.


	2. Final Farewell

**Final Farewell**

Benedict had been told at the age of 31 that he had heart problems and would die in a relatively short time – around a year, the doctors had said. Not that it had surprised him at all: he had always known that living life ten times faster than the normal rate would have its consequences.

And he had done it his whole life: he had married at 18, had his first child at 20, then two more at 22 and 25. Even before that: he had been emancipated at 14 and bought his own flat that same year. He had been named Quartermaster at 16 and leader of MI6 at 24. He had lived a whole, totally complete life in that short period of time. Others don't do that much in 80-90 years so he honestly felt he had nothing to complain about.

So he wasn't the least bothered by the fact he was dying to tell the truth. He had spent such a great part of his teenager years wondering if he were better off dead that he had gotten quite used to the idea somewhere along the way. He was tired and he wasn't afraid.

The only thing that made him sad was to have to leave his friends and family, especially Annabel, the kids and his brothers behind. But he also knew he would leave them enough not to have any problems in their lives ever and he also knew that Annabel – being young, smart and beautiful – would have no trouble finding someone to be with her. Oddly, he didn't really mind that either. He wouldn't be here to witness it anyway.

He also knew there was a single father whom she had befriended not long ago during one of Isabell's dance performances he had of course missed because of urgent professional duties. He had run a very throughout background check on the man right away, and found that he was 39 years old, had an eight years old little daughter whom he was raising alone since his wife had died two years ago of cancer. He was lonely and there was nothing dangerous or even mildly suspicious about him. Annabel and him texted a lot and he tried not to be bothered about it. He wasn't John to think that texting could even relatively be considered cheating and he also knew there was nothing wrong with having friends of the opposite gender. He himself had Moneypenny, Q, Mary, Anthea, Alicia and Molly – just to name a few. But he was also not stupid: he knew very well the man was interested and would have no problems courting her once he'd be out of the picture.

Which would happen soon.

Benedict was accustomed to the idea of death: his parents had died; then Major and Olivia had left him. Last year, Mrs. Hudson too. Death was everywhere. Maybe he would even meet them all in afterlife, who knew? He wasn't religious – it wouldn't really correspond well with his pragmatic way of thinking – but so many people believed in it; maybe it would turn out to be right. He was infinitely curious and was even excited to a degree about this new adventure.

Sadly, that didn't mean others agreed with him.

"No!" – Was all Annabel said, tears running down her cheeks. – "That can't be true! It just can't."

"I'm sorry." – He hated how he was causing her to suffer. He was a disappointment as a husband and father all the time.

"Don't be sorry. Just don't die."

Well, didn't she have expectations?

"You know it doesn't work that way…"

"No? If you loved us, you wouldn't want to leave us!" – She sobbed then ran into the bedroom, firmly locking the door behind her, effectively shutting him out of their shared residence.

He tried to knock and reason with her to no avail.

"Annabel, you're being irrational!" – He shouted, trying to be heard over her loud crying and raging.

He heard her throw something heavy against the door that broke to a thousand pieces and briefly wondered if it had been his favorite laptop he had left on the nightstand a few hours before.

"Irrational? I'm being _irrational_? You… You… You!" – She didn't seem to find the right insults.

"Yes! You know I don't _want_ to leave you! It's out of my hands!"

Something else collided with the door, giving a blunt thump and he suspected it might have been his briefcase. He really should have left his things in the study instead of their bedroom…

"Annabel, will you let me in, please?"

"NO!"

Just great… Well, there was nothing else to do, so he decided to leave her alone for a while in hope she would calm down a bit and they would be able to talk later.

The 'calming down' part didn't happen for a very long time though.

After the kids had finished dinner (to which she hadn't appeared), he had carried up some food for her but – since she again hadn't acknowledged his knocking in the least – he had only been able to leave it in front of the door. At least later he saw it had disappeared so he knew she wasn't starving.

The children were of course very curious about their parents' strange behavior and – despite him hating lying to them – he had explained that mommy had caught a nasty cold and didn't want them to catch it as well, so they had decided it would be best if she just stayed in the bedroom until she'd get better. Luckily they accepted this and didn't question further. He never lied to his children and hated it even now. His good intentions didn't stop him from feeling absolutely wrenched when he saw the three drawing their mom 'get well soon' cards.

"Daddy, will you give these to mommy so that she can be with us very soon?"

"Of course, princess. I'm sure she'll feel better tomorrow already." – He assured his 11-year-old daughter and hoped Annabel wouldn't make a liar out of him again and _would_ indeed pull herself together by the next day.

"Uncle John said when I had a cold that I needed to drink lots of hot tea with lemon and eat vitamins. Tell mommy to do these!"

"I will Caleb, thank you for the advice."

"Not as much as you drink though. Uncle Mikey says it's unnatural and probably bad for the teeth." – The nine-year-old boy continued.

"I'll be sure to warn her."

Caleb nodded satisfied.

"I read once that fresh air was very important when you're sick. So she should open the window. But it's very cold outside and they say to avoid it when you're not feeling well so… I don't really know what to do, it's a bit confusing…" – Explained Lucas a little unsure. – "Maybe she should open the window for only five minutes?"

"That sounds like a very good idea and a creative solution, Luke." – The boy was very smart for his seven years, you had to give it to him, thought Benedict.

He had put the children to bed and tried knocking on the door again. He didn't call out to her anymore though, because he didn't want the little ones to hear it. Annabel still refused to come out of their room or let Benedict inside (or react in any way), so in the end he ended up sleeping on the couch downstairs in the living room, without even a blanket to keep him warm. This was the very first time since they'd been together that they couldn't make up in an argument and thus didn't spend the night together. It was horrible.

Luckily, Annabel took pity on him sometime during the night and woke him of his fitful sleep at 1 AM.

"I'm sorry; I know I'm being silly. I just… Oh, God!" – She threw her arms around him and sobbed again.

"No, it's okay, I understand. I suppose I would have the same reaction to such news. Just don't wake the children. I don't want them to learn it that way."

"Yes, yes, of course, all right. Will you come upstairs? I have… ahm… picked up the mess already."

"Did anything of my things remain intact?" – He asked, half smiling.

"Well… your clothes are a bit creased but otherwise fine. I just stomped on them a few times…"

"Laptop? Papers? Briefcase?"

"Ahm… You know…" – She blushed with tears glistering in her eyes.

"It's okay. I was planning on buying new things anyway."

"No, you weren't. But thank you for saying it."

"Come on then, let's go upstairs. I'm frozen and my back is hurting. I don't know what we were thinking when we bought that couch."

"Probably not that we were ever going to sleep on it."

"Good point and a serious lack of judgement on our part."

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

The next morning it was him alone feeding the kids again because Annabel had said she needed to go talk to her mother, and left very early. The little ones seemed to sense there was something wrong and didn't buy the story about their mom being just sick anymore.

"Is mommy still not feeling better, daddy?" – Asked Caleb sadly.

"She is much better, buddy. She just has things to do."

"She never misses eating breakfast with us."

"I know, princess. I'm sure this is only a one-time thing." – Well, he hoped so. The kids were accustomed to _him_ missing important events, but not their mother.

"You had an argument, right?" – Piped in Lucas, munching on his buttered toast contently. – "Will you get a divorce?"

"Of course, not, Luke! Don't even think about things like that! Mommy and I love each other."

"Well, if you'll do it anyway, I'll be glad to be your lawyer. But decide quickly, because if mommy asks me first I won't be able to say no."

"All right, I'll try to remember it. I wouldn't want you to be against me. I'm afraid I wouldn't stand a chance." – Nodded Benedict tiredly.

Caleb seemed to be thinking hard.

"But then you'll get married again soon, right? I don't want to have to live in two different houses like my classmate, Roby. His parents are divorced as well."

"Caleb, I told you: we're not going to divorce!"

"Pity!" - Said Lucas. – "Because then we could go on a honeymoon when you marry again. Just like when we went to Disneyland and then to Disneyworld. These trips were fun! And there are other Disneylands, for example in Los Angeles… That would be great!"

For them, of course. For Benedict, flying to Florida had been pure hell. Not that it mattered but he didn't think he would survive an even longer flight to California.

Isabell shook her head.

"Nobody goes on a honeymoon with their kids, silly."

"They don't? Why not?"

"Because then they couldn't do _it_."

"What?"

" _It_!"

"But what's _it_?"

"Guys, it's enough! Nobody is getting divorced so there'll be no second marriage or a honeymoon. It's-"

But the kids didn't pay any attention to him anymore as Isabell explained with all her wisdom:

"When they're kissing naked! Theo had told me his parents do that too."

Oh, Benedict was so going to have a discussion with Bond about his boy…

"Naked!? Why would they do that?" – It seemed that in Lucas' mind it was quite a disgusting idea.

"You're so stupid! To make babies of course! But daddy, I don't want any more siblings. Two are enough!" – Announced Caleb very seriously.

"I don't want more either." – Backed him up Isabell. – "Unless it's going to be a girl because then it would be all right I guess…"

"Well, I would like a little brother or sister!" – Exclaimed Lucas with sparkling eyes. – "Will we get another baby, daddy? _Pretty please_?"

Benedict just pinched his nose and sighed. How was Annabel doing this every day?

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

Since Annabel had insisted on telling the others about his health – or rather lack of – Benedict had graciously left the task to her. His only condition was that he didn't have to be present for any of those conversations. He was just not ready for confrontations. (Or maybe he was indeed a coward, as she had called him.)

She had glared daggers at him but had relented in the end. Good. As far as he was concerned, they didn't have to tell anyone anything. If she wanted them to know then it was just as well she herself should tell them and then deal with the consequences.

Sadly, nobody seemed to respect his wish not to talk about it as they all started calling him right after their meeting with Annabel. Maybe she had told them to do so? It would be a fitting revenge, he had to admit, but still… would she be that cruel? The answer was simple to that: of course she would be. She was Annabel after all.

At first, he had tried to ignore the calls. But then they all sought him out in his office and he of course couldn't very well flee from MI6 when he was M, could he? Q and Moneypenny had each spent three hours crying on his shoulders, rendering them incapable of continuing their tasks for the day and forcing Benedict to send them home to rest. That meant extra work for him since he had to go without an assistant and a Quartermaster for a whole day, doing their jobs as well as his own. And that on a day when they had two Double-Os on field assignment, needing assistance from HQ over the comms. However, he had to admit to himself that it was fun to be back 'on board' in Q-Branch as 'Overlord', guiding the agents like in old times with the help of the ever-faithful minions, so he wasn't about to complain. Much.

Even Mallory came back to talk to him the next day, probably thanks to Moneypenny telling him the news as soon as she got home. He considered not letting him in but could you deny entrance to the previous leader? Surely not, seeing that the guards at the gate had been working under Mallory's command as well and wouldn't believe Benedict he didn't know their visitor and would therefore just let him in.

"My boy I just wanted to say… Oh, God. I don't know what I wanted to say. I just wanted to come and talk to you but now that I'm here I'm absolutely speechless." – He admitted, taking a seat by his own old desk, now belonging to Benedict. The situation was surely as uncomfortable for him as it was for the current leader.

Benedict considered offering the man some drink but then promptly remembered those had been his to begin with. He himself had certainly never stocked up on scotch just to entertain guests… Did you offer someone something that used to belong to them? He admittedly didn't know the proper protocol of having your old boss in the office but he somehow had a feeling he shouldn't bother with the drinks right now anyway.

What he should have done was tidy his desk some, he thought desperately. Some of the documents piled up high were in danger of soon falling onto his head. This office never used to be in such a messy state when the man sitting in front of him used to work here.

He started rearranging papers mainly so that he would have something to concentrate on instead of the man's sorrow.

"It's all right, sir. How have you been lately?" – They hadn't talked in a few weeks, Benedict having been busy in MI6 and Mallory having been distracted by whatever he did now in retirement.

"I am fine, it's you I'm here about."

"I trust Eve has told you… Of course you would ask her why she's home early in the morning when she should be here until 5 PM." – How stupid of him not having thought of that at all the day before!

"Yes, she told me. I'm so very… sorry. God, this word doesn't seem to mean anything now, does it?" – His old mentor was so obviously at a loss for words that Benedict actually felt sorry for him. This situation was seemingly much worse for others than for himself. Another reason he hadn't wanted to tell them.

"It's all right, I'm fine with it. Annabel and the kids are going to be all right as well, I'll make sure of it. Nothing to worry about."

This might not have been a good thing to say because Mallory blinked a few times confusedly then silent tears started running down his cheeks. Now what had he done wrong? Damn; despite all his efforts, he was still as socially inept as ever. That was painfully obvious now. He was grateful to all the gods that had ever been that his children all inherited Annabel's perfect manners and easygoing nature. And appetite. That was important as well.

"Sir, MI6 won't have a problem either, I already have a pretty good idea what I'd like to do about the M position. Unless you would like to come back of course…?"

Mallory gave a loud sob and that let Benedict come to the conclusion he most probably wouldn't want his old job back. At least, luckily, his famous Holmes-logic still worked.

Mallory left after another very awkward twenty-two minutes with a promise to be in touch much more in the future with his family and also a reassurance that Annabel and the kids will always be able to count on him and Moneypenny. That was something Benedict had expected and was immensely grateful for.

The following conversation with Bill didn't go any better of course. Why should anything be simple?

"I would like you to take over for me when I'm gone, Bill."

"What?"

"You should be M. You've been here like forever! You served under Olivia, Gareth and then me. You're the constant who's always present, observing, learning… You're wise and you've seen a lot. You know everyone here and also know how things work. You should have succeeded Mallory anyway but now there's no question. I don't want anyone from the outside. I want to preserve what we've built in the last years and that's only possible if my successor cares about it as much as I do."

"I don't even want to hear about it."

"Well, it's tough luck then, because you will. You were the one who told me nobody can refuse a promotion like that, remember? Because I do; you were very adamant and clear about it. Now it's you being promoted: congratulations, Bill; you're going to become leader of MI6!"

"Son, _you_ are M and it shouldn't change. I could never be like you. We can't lose you!"

"Oh, please, you don't want to yell at me for being inconsiderate and break my things to make your point, do you?" – He pleaded, snatching his cell from the desk and clutching it protectively to his chest. He was just so tired of it!

"Why would I yell and break your things?"

"Never mind. I mean it, Bill: MI6 needs you. _I_ need you. I know I'm asking a lot. You were my best man and you're already Isy's godfather and now I want to give you an even more demanding job… I understand if you hate me for it just please, accept. That's all I ask for. I promise you, you won't have to talk at my funeral! You don't even have to attend, I don't care. Just do this one thing for me." – He was most definitely not pleading, was he?

"Don't talk like that! I don't want to hear about dying and funerals!"

"All right. You'll only have to hear about things I have to explain before you take on the position."

"Not now. You're still here. Just… later. Please."

"Okay. I'll let you know when it's time to talk things over."

He had to admit, he felt better after their agreement. A heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders as MI6's future was secured. His family would be all right as well. There was only one thing remaining to sort out and for that he'd have to talk to his brothers.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

"No." – Said Sherlock simply and he obviously considered the matter closed with that. He weakly turned away on the couch where he was lying tiredly and faced the backrest in an unmistakable sign of 'leave me alone, I'm not talking to you anymore'. Very mature. Very Sherlock.

Benedict would have nothing of it though and turned to Mycroft instead.

"But it's perfectly logical. You both love logic. So what's wrong?"

Mycroft just shrugged helplessly, seemingly not trusting himself to speak. It was understandable: both his little brothers were dying. One was not even admitting it to himself and the other seemed to accept it with an ease that was quite honestly very disturbing.

Benedict had just told them about dying – well, he had sat down with them to tell it and they had deduced it right away, even before he had opened his mouth. But that was an unimportant detail now.

What was important though was their stupid denial that prevented him from fully presenting his – in his opinion – stellar idea.

"I'm going to write a will if I have to. Or I'll have Lucas do it for me. He's the future lawyer of the family after all." – He declared and crossed his arms stubbornly.

"That's not funny, Benedict." – Warned Mycroft.

"Of course it's not funny. He has been chosen class representative because he is the one who can stand up for the whole class even against the School Board. He wrote a letter to them demanding answers to some pressing questions, for example why they were not allowed to have a class pet. As a result, they have been sent a parrot and two turtles by various members of the Board. Their classroom looks like a zoo and now he's the school's celebrity."

"The boy's certainly a genius, there's no doubt, but I wasn't talking about that and you know it very well."

Benedict sighed and looked around the living room of Holmes Manor. Everything was just like always. Even the three brothers: Sherlock taking up the whole couch alone, Mycroft perched in his favorite armchair and he himself sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against Mycroft's seat… It was all so familiar. Except for his older brothers being so _thick_! It had never happened before.

"You really don't understand, do you? You can choose between just losing one of us or both Myc. It's so simple; do the math. And shut up, Sher!"

Sherlock was halfway turned back towards them and had started to open his mouth.

"I haven't even said anything."

"But you were going to. And it's completely unnecessary. I have made up my mind."

"Don't I get a say in this at all?" – Asked the middle brother angrily, frustrated about his lack of strength to do anything more.

"Nope. Myc?" – Mycroft just shrugged again and buried his face into his palms. Benedict felt anger rising. That was the last thing he had expected from his ever calm and collected oldest brother! He had wanted support! – "Oh, come on! If you start crying, I'll scream!"

As an answer, Mycroft jumped up with a speed you wouldn't have believed anyone his age capable of and quickly left the room.

Benedict turned to Sherlock who had opened his mouth again to speak.

"Shut up, Sher! Listen to me! You're not well, Sherlock; everyone can see that. You can hide away on the shore with your precious bees-"

"My bees are smarter than most people! You're just jealous!"

"I'm _jealous_!? I have two cats and a spider! Try to top that!"

"Bees are better!"

"No, they're not."

"Yes, they are!"

Well, this was getting ridiculous, even for them…

"You can say whatever you want, Sher, it won't change a thing: you're dying just like me. I've known it for a while and Mycroft knows it as well. So do John, Mary, Greg-"

"Who?"

"Lestrade! And everyone else. Why do you still try to deny it?"

"It's none of your business. This is about you now."

"No, it's about both of us. Your lungs have given up, it's painfully obvious. You sound worse than an old locomotive-"

Sherlock gave a sharp cough as if to prove his little brother's point further.

"- and you're as weak as a kitten."

"Your point? And do not make it boring!"

"My point is what I already told you: I, on the other hand, have two perfectly fine lungs. I think I can safely say I'm proud of them. They're good as new. And I won't need them much longer…"

"Stop that right now. I won't listen to this, Benedict."

"What are you going to do then; run away? Come on, you know I'm right. Why should they be wasted when _you_ need them?"

"I don't need your lungs, idiot! I need _you_!"

"Well, a pity then that I can only give you that much. But that I will. And I also have selfish reasons: Mycroft and my family. They need you! Mycroft wouldn't survive losing both of us, he just demonstrated it. He has _feelings_ however much he tries to deny it. And what about the kids? Should they have to bury their father _and_ one of their beloved uncles? Possibly two, seeing that Mycroft would most probably soon follow us. That's just plain stupid and not logical at all."

"I don't care about logic. I don't want to lose my little brother. Again. Besides, we might not even be compatible."

"You're kidding, right? Sherlock, we're practically twins! Just born 19 years apart…"

"There's no such thing at all! I won't let you do it!"

"And what do you want to do about it if I may ask?"

"If I go first, I won't have to watch you die. Maybe I can give you my heart. I'm the older of us two, I should go first. What do you say to that logic?"

"I say you never ever mention anything like that in front of Mycroft, you moron. What would he feel like, being the oldest and the only one who's healthy of us three? And I also say it's a stupid idea, seeing that I would never survive a heart-transplant. There's a reason it was never considered by the doctors. It would again mean both of our deaths."

"Your doctors might just be idiots." – Sherlock pointed out between two violent coughing fits.

"Or you might be an idiot. Besides, my mind is made up. You know me: nothing's going to change it."

And of course nothing did.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

Tanner had taken to spend more and more time in his office, observing him work through his daily chores, like contacting important people (the PM, ministers, other countries' representatives, secret organizations all around the world and Caleb's teacher after he had complained about her having been unfair by grading a test), speaking with Q-Branch, authorizing future assignments, speaking with Q-Branch, overviewing previous mission reports, speaking with Q-Branch, planning next month's foreseeable activities and speaking with-

"You do realize you won't have to be in such a close contact to Q-Branch if you don't want to, right? The previous Ms weren't. But you know that better than anyone else I guess." – He explained.

"I know."

"Right. Well, you'll find all the notes and contact addresses in the book. Somewhere…" – He continued, looking through everything on and in his desk, moving around thick folders and important papers, trying to find his notebook with all the necessary information in it. There was a drawback when you remembered everything after seeing/hearing it only once: you tended to lose your notes because you never actually needed them. – "Ah, well, whatever. I'm going to write them down for you again." – He gave up eventually with a shrug.

"I think Moneypenny might have them. Don't worry about it." – Informed him Tanner solemnly.

"Oh, that's good. She's a miracle worker, I'm telling you. You should hold her in high esteem."

He then continued with drawing charts about MI6's budget of last year compared to this year's incomes and expenses.

"This wouldn't actually be my job, so you won't have to bother with it. But I found that Accounting can be a bit… well… _unreliable_ sometimes. I started checking numbers around three years ago and I've discovered some interesting aspects worth of further exploration. I have tried to improve our financial efficiency…" – He said, waving around his diagrams. – "See how I've managed to cut some of our expenses just by reorganizing certain areas? The amount of wasting we used to be doing was just crazy. No wonder MI6 was one of the most expensive organizations of the country."

"It's not anymore?"

"Now we're nearly on par with MI5 which is realistic. We're expensive, no question there, with all our foreign travels, high tech weapons, best computers, etc. But it doesn't mean we have to burn taxpayers' money just for the fun of it. For example, I'm pretty sure we don't need to order online special Arabian coffee every second week in an industrial quantity with express delivery."

"I agree."

"There are two things I'd never save money on though: security and agents' equipment. I don't ever want a bomb in here again like the one that nearly killed Q-Branch members many years ago and the gadgets I don't think I have to explain. They're there to save the agents' lives. I refuse to lose them. They're NOT disposable weapons."

"No, they're not."

"They're people. Persons."

"Yes, they are." – Tanner agreed. – "And how are you?"

"I'm not behind on any paperwork, thank God, so I can take some time to go down to Q-Branch later. I'd like to test the new flash drive they've been working on. If you'd like to come, you're welcome to."

"I'll come, but that's not what I meant. I meant _you_. You seem tired."

"Oh, well, yes. A bit. Caleb has the stomach flu and we were up all night with him, checking for fever and giving him medicine. We also let him sleep in our room, because we didn't want Lucas to catch it as well. Needless to say, that Lucas wouldn't stay alone so he too ended up in our room, kicking me out of the bed… I wouldn't be surprised if he'd be sick next."

"Well, if they were together anyway, they could have slept in their own room, couldn't they?"

"Now that you say it… Next time I should call you for advice in the middle of the night, Bill. You seem to have good ideas."

"You know you can call me any time. I would even have gladly gone to you to help."

"I know. Thanks. Anyway, the boys thought it was like a sleepover party or something. They said it was fun to be in the 'big bed'." – He said fondly.

"Of course they would like an adventure. But how are _you_?"

"I don't think I'll catch stomach flu, Bill. This is something for children, you know. They get it all the time, but adults are mostly immune. The last time we thought Annabel had it, it turned out she was only in the early stages of pregnancy with Lucas. And since I'm fairly certain _I'm_ not going to be pregnant, I think I should be fine."

"For God's sake, son, I didn't mean your stomach! A want to know how you are. Generally."

Now Benedict couldn't pretend anymore not to understand the question. Damn.

"Oh, well, I'm-" – The phone started to ring, saving him from having to say anything. – "Excuse me."

Benedict Holmes.

 _Mister Holmes, there's an urgent situation in Algeria that requires at least two of your best agents to get on their way right now._

But, Prime Minister, what happened? I wasn't warned about a potential situation in Algeria and we're not prepared for a mission like that. I'd need more information to be able to act.

 _All right, I'll tell you, but it will have to be quick. We're wasting time…_

Benedict mouthed 'I'm sorry' to Tanner because he knew their conversation was over for now. Now it was time to act as M.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

They didn't have time to talk more about the matter because Benedict had to spend the rest of the day in the Parliament, a fact that made him grumpy, especially since it required him to wear a suit. Yes, a suit. Him! He hated it with a passion and wished he could just have his comfy, ugly jumpers back. Although even now he drew a line by the tie; that would have been way more than what he could take. Fortunately, everyone knew him by now and they didn't expect him to dress up like a 'monkey' – as he still liked to call the politicians. And each time someone dared to remind him that he was now considered one as well to some degree, he frowned and refused to talk to the guilty person for at least a day. Whoever they were; like by one infamous occasion the PM personally. Nobody could accuse Benedict of playing favorites.

Well, admittedly, he was a weird one, but it was a common knowledge now that he was a Holmes, so it really hadn't come as a surprise to anyone. And he was proud to say he hadn't heard about himself being referred to as 'the normal one of the lot' for ages. Good. They shouldn't ruin his hard-earned reputation as an eccentric boffin. Just because he was the leader now and had a wife and three children, didn't mean he had to grow up and lose his charm, did it? Besides, nobody should complain as long as _he_ wouldn't visit the Buckingham Palace clad only in thin sheets. Last time he'd had sportswear on but it had been Sunday and he'd been called away from playing football with the boys in the garden, so that didn't count in his opinion.

By the time he arrived back to Headquarters he was fighting a bad headache and his irritation about having to send out agents into the – mostly – unknown. Not that he hadn't done everything in his power to gather as much intel as possible… he now at least had a fairly good idea what they were dealing with. But still he would have preferred at least a few days' time for preparations. No use dwelling on it now…

Q, I need to talk to you. Are you available?

 _Yes, sir, of course. Shall I come to your office now?_

No, don't bother, I'll go down. I'll be there in ten.

He didn't like just summoning others to his office. He wasn't a king or Mycroft after all.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

It had taken him another two and a half hours to sort out this new assignment, talk it over with Q, and choose the three most suitable agents for the task who would receive their briefing and gadgets tomorrow. Yes, three agents. He didn't care if the PM thought two were enough; in his humble opinion, this assignment required three and period. Unfortunately for the PM, it was still in his authority to make these decisions.

It was nearly midnight when he finally arrived home and as he was walking up the stairs from the garage to the house, he remembered that he hadn't called Annabel to tell her about the unexpected situation and that he'd be late because of it. Oooo…

Sure enough, he found her in the living room, sitting in the dark, waiting and looking at him ominously. She squinted as he turned on the lights then glared at him with clear accusation.

"You didn't call."

"I know. I'm sorry. It was hectic…"

"You didn't even write."

"That's true. I'm sorry."

"I didn't know what to tell the kids. They wanted to wait up for you."

"I'm sorry…" – He seemed to be repeating himself like a broken disk. – "I'll go upstairs right away to give them a goodnight kiss. Even if they're not awake."

"You should do that."

"Right." – He turned to do so but Annabel didn't seem to be finished.

"I was worried."

"I—"

"If you'll say 'you're sorry' again, I'm going to hit you, Benedict Dominic Holmes, mighty leader of MI6!"

It was really bad if she was using his whole name _and_ his job's title… Maybe he should have tried to climb in through the upstairs window instead.

"Forgive me."

"Oh, you…!" – She got up and walked to him. For a moment there he thought she was really going to slap him but then she just wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. So far so good. – "You're lucky Bill remembered to warn me. He told me you'd most probably be late because you had been summoned to the Parliament for a sudden assignment."

"Bill is an angel." – And he really was. Benedict made a mental note to thank him the next day for his thoughtfulness.

"He came here to bring Caleb biscuits he can eat with his stomach flu. And chamomile, ginger and peppermint tea. He's sleeping like a baby thanks to these. In their own room. Bill helped carry their things back, saying it was no use keeping them in our room if they're going to be together anyway."

"I'm going to give him extra vacation. And a raise."

"I think he'd rather you talked to him. I mean: really talked. He's very worried. So am I, actually."

"I'm fine for now. There's nothing to be worried about."

"You realize that it's been over eight months already? They said a year at most…"

Trust her to remind him of his deadline at a time like this… They had lately lived their lives, traveled to family outings, celebrated birthdays (even his own) and Halloween without mentioning his illness even once. He wanted to preserve this holy state of things for at least a bit longer, but it seemed he wouldn't get his wish granted. Why wasn't he surprised?

"Annabel, we should only worry about things we have an influence on."

She started to cry.

"Life's so unfair."

He held her more tightly.

"It's neither unfair, nor is it fair. It is what it is. That's life. Nobody ever promised it to be a fairy tale."

"That's just cruel. And I don't know why you won't let us be there for you. You don't have to do this alone! We _want_ to help you!"

"But how could anyone help me?" – He honestly didn't understand what they expected him to want from them in this matter. Unless someone could perform a powerful healing magic on him, he didn't think there was much to do anymore.

"By talking! There is such a thing as talking about your feelings, you know! You could tell us if you're afraid or in pain."

"But I'm neither. I don't have _feelings_ about this at all. I have accepted it as a fact and I'm not dwelling on it. I have other things to worry about, every day is a new challenge in this job and the family and everything. I don't have time to worry about myself."

"Oh, you're just so… you're so… you're…"

"What am I?" – He could tell she wanted to say something very insulting and was actually curious what she would come up with. She could be very amusingly creative when angry.

"You're such a HOLMES!"

Ouch. That was her worst one yet.

"Hey, you know what? Let's just go upstairs. I'd like to look in to the kids then take a nice hot shower. After that, we can talk if you want to."

"You'd talk to me? Really?"

"Why, of course. I – as a Holmes – might not have feelings, but it's obvious that you have some. I'd like to hear them."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly. I love you."

"I love you too."

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

Winter was difficult for Benedict. He had always hated the cold but by now it had become extreme how much he was freezing. 'Problems with circulation', he had been told. Well, it was so much better, knowing the reason… It sadly didn't help him pull on even more pullovers and coats. He already looked like the Michelin man most of the times anyway.

He was also gradually getting weaker and weaker. Climbing the stairs seemed like an enormously strenuous task now, so he tried to avoid doing it whenever possible. Thus, by Christmas he had migrated into the living room and taken up permanent residence on the uncomfortable couch, cursing himself for not having changed it when he had been still able to do so. His back and neck were hurting constantly and it had nothing to do with his failing heart and everything to do with the wrenched piece of furniture.

The only person who seemed to have it even worse than him was Sherlock. He was constantly coughing so much he nearly choked, unable to stop long enough to take proper breathes. Their goodbye hadn't been a pleasant one and Benedict was sure it would have been even worse, had he understood a word of what his brother had tried to say… He thought there had been some sentences like "I'm not going to let you go" and "Don't you dare leave before me" but he couldn't be sure. 'Soon, Sherlock. Soon you're going to heal.' – He promised mentally.

He had stopped going in to Headquarters early January, so it was up to Tanner to lead the organization now as 'regent' – as the youngest Holmes usually teased him. He came regularly to 'consult' but Benedict knew it was meant more for his and his family's benefit than anything else. Bill certainly shouldn't need his advice by now. Granted, Benedict was still officially 'M', so Tanner sometimes really _did_ need his signature for some documents but he wanted to change that for good. So, he decided to bring up the topic during one of Bill's visits. It was not an easy topic to broach…

"… And Q-Branch wants permission to test the new laser pen." – Bill finished his report about the state of things and waited for instructions, just like he had done every day since he had started substituting the boss.

Benedict thought for a moment.

"Do you think the pen is ready for testing? Is it definitely not dangerous for the testers anymore?"

"I think it should be all right."

"Well, then, if you think so, give them permission."

Bill paled.

"I don't know if I'm the right judge of that, son… I don't know anything about laser pens."

"What does Q say?" – Damn if it wasn't still difficult to refer to someone else as 'Q' sometimes… He had a suspicion he wouldn't have the same problem with 'M' though. Somehow, he had never made that letter his whole identity like he had done with the designation Q. He had been just simply Benedict for a long time now.

"She was the one who asked for permission…"

"So, do you think it means she deems it safe enough to try?"

"I suppose… She asked… She wouldn't have done it if she thought it was dangerous, would she?"

"I don't know. What do _you_ think? And if so: do you trust her judgement?"

"I'm sure she knows what she's doing…"

Benedict pressed further, knowing exactly what he wanted to hear but also aware that Tanner was not ready to say it just yet. But he was getting there. He would have to get there soon.

"Do you _trust_ her enough to base your decision solely on her word?"

" _My_ decision?" – Bill looked to be in panic. – "I can't possibly make a decision like that! How could I? Then the result would be my responsibility!"

"Exactly the point of being the leader. You don't have to be able to actually do every department's jobs; that would be impossible. But you are the one who has to have the final word so you need to have a pretty detailed overview. The underlings are all going to look to you for advice and yes: you _are_ going to make the hard decisions and you _are_ going to have to take responsibility for them. That's why it's very important that you be able to trust your people to a 100% and they have to be able to trust you as well. You all must rely on each other's professionalism."

"Oh God… I can't do this."

"Of course you can. You just have to be sure of yourself because you are going to be questioned constantly. If they see you're insecure, then your employees won't feel safe and the Government is going to attack you. Not to mention it's up to you to keep the Double-Os in line. This is something you can't leave to Q now because she still hasn't mastered the art yet completely. So even if you're unsure: allow nobody to see it!"

"Are you ever unsure?"

"All the time."

Bill whipped his head up in surprise.

"Really? You never look it."

"Because I can't afford for anyone to know and let them use it against me. Us. That's what I'm talking about. It doesn't mean I'm not second-guessing myself constantly."

"But you've never made a mistake."

"That's not true. You are allowed to make mistakes. And rest assured: you will, just like I did; it's unavoidable. You just have to deal with them and make the best out of every situation."

"I'm really not cut out for this! I'm not capable enough… I have always just been the Chief of Staff, that's all. I'm not a leader!"

"Hey, don't panic now! You're going to be just fine. Everyone goes through that what you are feeling now."

"Even you?"

"Oh, come on, Bill; don't you remember my initial reaction to becoming M? I wanted to flee to Alaska!"

"But you didn't."

"God, no! It's cold enough here, I wouldn't go anywhere where I'd freeze even more!" – He laughed and pulled the five blankets even closer around himself as a demonstration.

But it didn't have the desired effect. Tanner just became even more subdued instead of his mood having lightened, what had been his original intention.

"You're really not feeling well, are you?" – He asked sadly.

"Ah, well, I've been better…" – Benedict admitted reluctantly. – "But I've been worse too. I won't ever forget when Alec and James made me drink that disgusting vodka on my bachelor party. The first and only time I was ever drunk. And the headache next day… On my wedding day, none the less. I swore then I'd never talk to them ever again."

"So that's why you were deathly pale and shaking during the preparations? I thought it was nerves."

"In a way… I was nervous I was going to throw up in the church in front of all the guests… Anyway, now I think it's time for me to resign my position as M and-"

"NO!"

"Yes! You're going to be M anyway, what difference do a few days make?"

"Days!?"

"That's what I estimate. Listen: you'll have to make these decisions. I want you to start now. Will you give Q permission to test that pen or not?"

"What are my options?"

"If it's a field you don't really know much about, then only these: give permission or send it back for further development for at least five days. If it's something you know better but are unsure about, you can ask for more detailed reports and plans about planned tests and the results they expect out of them. Or, if you're sure or you trust the head of department completely, you sign it and hope they know what they're doing. Sadly, accidents can always happen, everyone knows that, but it absolutely can't be because someone wanted to unnecessarily rush things. That's what you need to prevent. Nobody expects you to guarantee positive results. That's what the tests are for: to see if the new development works or not. You only have to guarantee the maximal possible safety under the circumstances."

"I see. I think I… I don't know much about laser pens…" – He said sheepishly.

"It's absolutely fine, there are going to be a lot of things coming up you won't have an idea about. Some of them you'll learn with time, others not."

"Well, then more detailed reports are not an issue here I guess."

"Indeed. They would do you nothing good now."

"But _you_ know laser pens. If you would just look at the documents…" – He was positively pleading and Benedict hated to disappoint. But he felt sure this was the right thing to do in the long run. Tanner couldn't depend on him any longer. And he really didn't. He just had to believe in himself finally.

"No. It's your position, your decision."

"But I trust you completely."

"Sadly, I won't be here to help you for long. But Q is going to be here hopefully for many-many years to come. She's been here for ages as well. So: do you trust her?"

"I… Yes, I do. You hired her. You picked her to be R. You trained her to become Q. You trust her. I trust her."

Well, they were getting there. But Benedict would have been happier with an answer that didn't name _him_ as a reason for trust. Whatever, better than nothing.

"Then?"

"Then it can be signed."

"Do it."

"What?"

"I said: do it. You're M. Congratulations." – With that, he fished a folder with difficulty out from under the couch and handed it to a gaping Bill.

"What's that, son?"

"My resignation and your inauguration as M – bearing all the necessary signatures but yours. You can thank Mycroft for acquiring them by the way." – He didn't add how much he'd had to beg to Mycroft to help him with this. It was ironic how he had never accepted any offered help from his oldest brother getting or keeping his job or in anything to do with it at all but had had to plea for assistance resigning from it. – "I would have liked to do this more festive, but…" – He trailed off, gesturing at himself lying helplessly on the couch. – "I'm sorry to say I wouldn't be able to drink with you upon it. Meds and all… But I wish you all the best. And if you need it; not always, mind you, but when it's really necessary; you'll be able to consult with Mallory. He'll be glad to help you."

"But… I… Mallory…"

"I might have already talked with him about it." – The young man admitted. – "He approves and has offered to stand by you."

"I really don't know what to say…"

"You don't have to say anything. Just sign your contract and Q's permission form. Now that you've made a decision I can tell you that this is exactly what I would have done. There's no need to look so relieved though, because my opinion doesn't have to count for anything anymore. Now it's your opinion that matters."

"But it will always be important for me." – Said Bill, with tears in his eyes, as he signed everything with his favorite pen. A pen he had gotten from Benedict for one memorable Christmas a few years back. He always kept it in his briefcase. – "They won't even understand why they'll see my signature on the form instead of yours…"

"You'll find that they'll be already waiting for you in HQ with champagne. My last course of action as M was lifting the alcohol-ban for a few hours so that you can celebrate."

"Oh..." – Bill was totally choked up, unable to form words.

"It's done. I'm finally free from professional obligations for the first time since I was unexpectedly made Q at 16. It's funny... I hope you'll find happiness in your new job, Bill. It's a good organization and now you have the opportunity to make it even better. They will all rely on you and I know with absolute certainty that you won't ever let them down."

"Why does it feel like final farewell, son?"

"Because it is. For the coming days you'll be too busy with your new responsibilities to visit me." – He held up his hands to prevent the upcoming protest. – "And it's exactly what is meant to be. You'll have to introduce yourself to monkeys… ahm… I mean: politicians. A bunch of highly important and very boring people who are going to want to make your life miserable from now on. But you won't let them of course. And also all the department heads will want to speak with you and make a good impression to secure their positions. Naturally, they'll flood your desk – which I tidied for you by the way – with hundreds of ideas I didn't authorize to try to get permission for them now that there's a new leader." – He said laughing.

It was not difficult to guess this would happen sooner or later: he himself had been confronted with that behavior upon becoming M. He had then told every one of them that he completely trusted his predecessor's judgment so they shouldn't even waste their energy trying to convince him that Mallory had been wrong. Now it would be up to Tanner to decide what he'd do with these: Bill now had the authority to change every decision he had ever made as M.

"I could never be too busy to come to you and the little ones."

"But you will be. I mean it: you WILL be." – He pressed, trying to get his point across without actually having to say it out loud. He could never bring himself to say the truth: that he really _didn't want_ Bill to see him waste away. That would sound cruel even though he didn't mean it that way. – "And the kids aren't here. They're at their grandparents' house in Stevenage along with Pixel and Confetti. They drive the children to school every day; it's not too far away." – It had been Annabel's idea. He himself had offered to go back to Holmes Manor but Annabel had insisted he remain here and she take care of him and she, typical for her, wouldn't take no for an answer.

"They're not going to come back to you anymore either?"

"No. We've already said our goodbyes. I don't want to traumatize them even more; it's hard enough for them as it is. And they're great; they really understood it when I explained to them. They're the best. I'm very proud."

"My heart is breaking to thousand pieces right now, son."

"It doesn't have to! I'm actually quite glad with how my life has turned out: I have loving brothers, surrogate fathers and sibling, lots of friends and a great family. My wife is a miracle and my children… I can't even find the words for them to express my feelings. I had jobs I just loved and did a lot of things others don't usually get to experience in 80 years' time. You might feel like my life was short but if you think about everything that has happened to me, you'll find this is not the case at all. It was just… fast."

"I…"

"I've been living on borrowed time my whole life anyway: I was expected to die right after birth then once again when I was in the accident. Even after that, I was playing with death; and cheating it; all the time. It was ought to come back to bite me on the butt sometime."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I don't know… I do it all the time. I get on Annabel's nerves with it." – He said smiling, then sobered. – "You will keep in touch with them, right?"

"Of course! I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Thank you. I know I promised no obligation when you agreed to be Isy's godfather…"

"It's not an obligation: it's a pleasure."

"Good bye, Bill. Dad."

It took a while until Tanner found his voice again.

"I don't want to leave you alone. I'll wait for Annabel to come back…"

"She's with the children. She spends the afternoons with them. She'll be back at six. You, on the other hand, have a new position to celebrate in Vauxhall. Don't make them wait any longer; they might decide to drink and eat everything without you if you take too long."

"How could I celebrate when-"

"Easily. You think about the future. About your new life. That's what's _normal_. You have to be happy about your promotion."

"And you?"

"I shall celebrate as well: the fact that now it's you who's behind in paperwork and not me." – He chuckled and Bill rolled his eyes good-naturally. Both knew of course that Benedict had left everything in perfect order; not even a pending post-it on the pin-wall. – "So I'll do that by sleeping peacefully, without a care in the world for once."

"Then I'll leave you to it, son. I love you." – He hugged the young man that he'd known for twenty years now and whom he had watched grow up. To tell the truth, he was secretly glad not to have to watch him die as well.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

Benedict estimation had been – of course – as perfect as ever. He had really only had days left when he had predicted it.

He spent his last day – two days after the talk with Tanner – sleeping, only halfway conscious so he was mostly blissfully unaware of Mycroft trying to plead with him, telling him about Sherlock's absolute depressed state and that Molly and Greg were with the middle Holmes brother to try to keep him sane and breathing.

Benedict had a fleeting thought how 'it might be too late for sane already – has been for at least fifty years' but he was unable to voice it. When he tried, only a painful groan came out, so he abandoned any more attempts after that.

A lot of things Mycroft said that day were lost on the sick young man, but there was something he heard very well. It was a conversation between a tearful, angry Annabel and a broken Mycroft:

"He told you he didn't want anyone to be here but me! Go away, Mycroft Holmes."

No. Actually he was pretty sure he had said he didn't want anyone at all…

"I'm not going anywhere! He's my little brother."

"He's my husband and this is our house. And he didn't want you to be here. He said goodbye and told you to stay away just like he did with everyone else."

"I don't care."

"You don't care about his last wish? How cruel can you be, you monster!?"

"Mrs. Worthington-Holmes, you might be married to my brother but don't think for a minute you understand or even know us completely. Don't even presume to do so. You have known him for sixteen years – I have known him for thirty-two. Trust me: he knew very well I wouldn't stay away." – Of course he had known. That's why he had made Annabel swear that whatever happened, she wouldn't keep their children away from his brothers as revenge.

"But he asked you to! Can't you just honor it?"

"I'm sorry, I can't. I was there when he was born and I'm going to be here when he dies. This is how this works. If Sherlock could travel, he'd be here as well. As it is: I'm here for the both of us." – He declared then took Benedict's right hand in his own, much bigger ones. He obviously considered the matter closed.

Annabel, too tired and heartbroken to argue with the thickheaded man anymore, sighed in defeat and took a seat beside the intruder to wait.

Benedict had at first wanted to intervene but then decided against it. For one, because he knew he couldn't even open his eyes, let alone utter a word (and a conversation with Mycroft was tiring even for a healthy person on an average day), but most importantly: because Mycroft was right. He had been there for his birth and he had been one of the first persons to ever hold him. Somehow, his brother's hand on his own felt just as right as Annabel's hand in his hair. But he was glad to be assumed sleeping, since he thought he probably would die of embarrassment if he had to admit it. Never mind that he would die anyway…

A gentle squeeze on his hand suggested that Mycroft might have had an idea about him being – mostly – awake. His brilliant big brothers really did know everything…

Also, he thought he heard violin… He might have been dreaming it but then why did he imagine coughing to it? Was he missing Sherlock that much? What he didn't know was it was coming from Mycroft's cell: a live performance for their little brother from a faraway Sherlock to lull him to sleep, just like when he had been in his mother's belly, kicking violently and unable to be calmed down any other way.

So, Benedict really drifted off to the sound of violin. He dreamt about being a teenage-Q again, arguing with Alec and James over everything – especially about their annoying tendency of burning down/blowing up every building that had to misfortune to come across them –, developing different lethal weapons and working on the Double-Os tuned cars. _His_ Double-Os, mind you. He dreamt about having a row with a healthy Sherlock and young Mycroft, insisting he was already grown up. What had he known back then? He dreamt about two small furballs running around Q-Branch and about traveling to Paris with Bill. He dreamt about an explosion that had made him Q and then meeting Major and Olivia again after months of silence from them. He dreamt about working with Mallory around the clock for days, trying to keep MI6 together in a time of great peril. He dreamt about being kidnapped by totally inept idiots who couldn't even keep him locked up for five minutes, trying not to laugh at their attempts at being patronizing too obviously. Well, he had taken his revenge… He dreamt about spending his whole vacation sitting on the cold floor behind a desk in complete darkness, thanks to Sherlock's brilliant idea of investigating a case and dragging him along. He dreamt about his beloved flat exploding. It had hurt so much… But not nearly as much as having to equip his brother for a potentially deadly mission afterwards. He dreamt about meeting Annabel for the first time. He dreamt about befriending then losing Michael. He dreamt about his brief time in high school, his realization that he would never ever be 'normal'. He then dreamt about much later discovering that he didn't mind it. He dreamt about his wedding, about the birth of his children, about his life as M… He dreamt about an elephant sitting on his chest. Well, this one was interesting, he couldn't very well place it but it certainly felt very real… After that, he didn't dream anymore.

 **Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

A small funeral was held in three days but the real ceremony followed much later, because they wanted Sherlock to be able to attend. So they waited for him to be totally healthy and strong, thanks to his two new, perfectly functioning lungs. He had quit smoking after that, claiming he didn't have the right to damage his little brother's ultimate gift to him. Needless to say, he never touched drugs either anymore and everyone was immensely grateful for that.

There had been a cremation. Benedict himself had insisted they stop the nonsense with caskets and headstones: both him and Sherlock had had fake ones in the past and he had been afraid Mycroft would try to somehow reuse these, under the motto 'cost-effectiveness and simplicity for the sake of environment'. He had done it before after all so there was no reason to think he wouldn't do it again. And their family had a very unique reputation already; they didn't need to be known as 'the lot who recycles graves like others do with plastic bottles'. That would be just too creepy, even for them.

This time it didn't rain during the service. Mycroft still had his umbrella of course, just in case. It was early spring: the air was still cold but the sun shone happily and was trying to do everything in its power to brighten the melancholic mood of the gathered crowd. Mycroft was thinking about how stupid they had been the first time around to believe their brother dead: it was so very different now. They could feel the loss, the void in the universe… Like everything had changed. Something was missing that would never come back. And it would have consequences. It was just so obvious; they, with their superior minds, really should have recognized the lie so many years ago!

Admittedly, it was quite a curios collection of people in the cemetery: from Government monkeys and various military officials to Sherlock's ragged homeless network, everyone seemed to have made an appearance. His real friends who had known him were all sure Benedict wouldn't have believed how very well-known and loved he had been. He surely wouldn't have expected (or wanted, for that matter…) so many people to attend his funeral service. The first time around it had only been a handful of attendees and it had been absolutely right with him. Now though…

"Mommy, who are all these people over there?" – Asked Isabell, pointing towards the unknown persons in the crowd.

Annabel needed a few seconds to be able to answer her.

"I don't know, baby, I'm sure they knew your daddy though."

Actually, not all of them had. Not personally, at least. Some knew that he had saved _their_ friend, Sherlock, and it was enough for them to respect him enough to attend. Others knew of his reputation as a leader of MI6, earlier Quartermaster, and admired him for his professionalism. Again others just wanted to see if it was true that this time around a Holmes brother had really died. It was confusing trying to keep up to date with their deaths and resurrections.

Annabel stood with the children and their closest extended family (her parents and sister's family, Greg and Molly, all the previous Double-Os from Benedict's Q-days, the minions, Sherlock, Mycroft, Alicia, Anthea, Mallory, Eve, Tanner, Madeleine, John and Mary) to the side, needing space and peace to mourn undisturbed. Their loss had been the greatest.

Mycroft had made sure that no one from the press was allowed to set foot into the cemetery or to come near to it and the family in any way. They had wanted a first-hand report about it of course; _ordinary_ _people_ loved tragic fairy tales like Benedict's whole life and the reporters had already started analyzing it in the most disgusting ways: a morning show had even had an expert as a guest to talk about how being a unique genius like the youngest Holmes brother had predestinated him for an early grave and how he could have foretold it anytime, had they asked him before.

" _So, you think, Doctor Edwards, that there was no other way it could have turned out for that poor boy than with an early death?" – Asked the flirtatious female interviewer, clearly more interested in the doctor himself than in Benedict Holmes' tragically short-cut life._

" _Well, I have to say, that's sadly true." – Explained the doctor, not looking sad at all, rather delighted at the opportunity to demonstrate his genial theories in front of cameras. – "Just imagine being born well ahead of time and nearly dying. Then crashing with a plane and again: nearly dying." – Actually, the Holmes brothers didn't have any idea how the reporters had managed to dig up that particular story when nobody had been interested in it before the slightest. Not even when it had happened. – "Imagine getting degree after degree from different universities before even reaching ten just because you were bored. Imagine not having any friends your own age. Oh, scratch it: any friends at all. Then feigning your own death and fleeing to MI6 at 12? This is just crazy." – The crazy thing was that they knew and reported about it. Benedict had never wanted anyone, let alone the whole world to know about his life story! – "Becoming Quartermaster at 16? Leader of MI6 at 24? Again: crazy." – How the hell did they learn all these? – "Not to mention marrying at 18 and becoming father at 20. Plain rushing through life, that is." – No. A scandal talking about it like that, it is. – "The human body just cannot keep up with a brain and lifestyle like that. It gives up. This is what happened. Very sad, very tragic but also logical." – I'll give you logic; thought Sherlock angrily. His heart gave up, not his brain, you stupid idiot!_

" _So very true and sad." – Concluded the reporter with slightly overplayed sympathy then turned to look into the camera in front of her, careful to keep her head at the angle that would make her hair look best. – "You heard Doctor George Edwards, expert of human behavior and social interactions. I'm Monica Grace and this is Good Morning London. After a short commercial break, we'll be back with-"_

So that was it. They had degraded Benedict's whole life in fifteen minutes to tragically interesting news for _ordinary people_ to talk about. And talk they did: newspapers, other TV programs, reports, studies… It was just unbearable for those who had been really close to him and knew what he would think about all these. Sherlock and Mycroft became nauseous just thinking about it.

The infamous James Bond – who hadn't even really cried at the funeral –started sobbing uncontrollably upon hearing the story of the plane crash for the first time, during one of the most obnoxious interviews about Benedict's tragic life. At first nobody could understand what happened but then Bill reminded them (whispering, so that Bond wouldn't hear) about the argument the man had had with the then-teenager many-many years ago, during which he had mercilessly made fun of the boy's fear of flying; never knowing just how hurtful his words in reality had been. Nobody wanted to talk about this anymore; they found it best to let the man deal with his grief alone, in peace. Some swore he was never the same again after that.

Annabel did her best keeping it all away from the children. She had a lot of help from everyone of course and she was never alone with the difficulties. And the children were very tough and didn't pay attention to rumors circulating around their school about their father having been a secret agent: an assassin who had killed a whole town once just for the fun of it. Or that he was really an alien because all that knowledge just couldn't be human.

Isabell was the best at ignoring these idiotic 'urban legends'. She concentrated on her studies and dancing. She eventually became a dancer and worked in different theaters, doing musicals, dance shows and other performances. Later she also participated in teaching dance to children. She had the famous Holmes-gift of deduction, perfected with the help of her Uncle Sherly but chose not to use this to solve crimes but rather to be able to understand her colleagues and students better. Everyone expected Sherlock to be a bit disappointed by it, but oddly he declared in absolute honesty that he couldn't be prouder about it. He made sure to watch all her productions at least twice so that he 'wouldn't miss any details'.

Caleb had a tough time after his father's death. He was the most shaken about the mean accusations and tried to stand up to his family's honor which earned him outright dislike from his previous friends. In the end, he had to learn to tell who his real friends were, and to let go of those who only wanted to hurt him. With the help of his real and adopted uncles, he got over it all soon enough and became a successful architect, designing beautiful houses and even a music hall once that instantly became a symbol for the city it stood in.

Nobody was surprised that Lucas graduated two years ahead of his peers then went on to study law. He became a barrister and was well-known for defending human rights and fighting for equality. Later, he was invited to teach at Oxford and he accepted the position eagerly. He was the one who resembled his father the most, both in looks and personality. Mycroft mournfully thought that Benedict could have turned out to be just like that: happy, contented, easy-going and popular; if he himself hadn't ruined him by trying to keep him safe.

Oh, what a fool he had been! Maybe then he wouldn't have wanted to disappear and grow up so soon… Something that had started a chain of events leading to what had eventually happened. It was too late for regrets of course but he never forgot the promise he had made to his dying little brother (even if he hadn't been awake by then to hear it): he always made sure that his niece and nephews never felt like they were expected to be anything else but what they wanted to be. They didn't have to be perfect, they didn't have to think that everyone who was 'normal' was an idiot, they didn't have to pretend not to have feelings for fear anyone would taunt them for it… That way they didn't have a reason to run away early and leave everything behind. They could be as normal as they wanted to be.

And they were. And their extended family couldn't have been happier about it.

 _The end_


End file.
